Bedside Manner
by D.E. Harrison
Summary: It turned out that being shot twice in the chest created a fine opportunity for dreaming. Spoilers for Mann Co. No More #4.


Sniper rarely dreamt. It was all because of his sleep patterns; when he did get a chance to nod off, it was never long enough to conjure up coherent visions for extended periods of time. It never really bothered him. The dreams he had were hardly interesting and were made up of repeating themes: grazing sheep, his parents, and sometimes, on particularly lonely nights, former girlfriends.

Things changed a bit once he was hired to work for RED, as the circumstances of his job made it more possible for him to sleep more regularly. For instance, he had a schedule to follow. He knew that he wouldn't be called upon to take out a target when he wasn't on the battlefield, and that meant he could expect to have downtime all through the night. That didn't mean that he took to sleeping eight hours a night. Years of tracking his targets through the bush at all available hours, be they animal or human, made staying up all night a hard habit to break. Eventually, he settled on sleeping whenever he was tired, and the RED team grew to expect finding the Sniper snoozing in a dining chair at two in the afternoon after spending all night on the roof of his van. Still, regular hours of work made his dull dreams more frequent.

Then the nature of his dreams started to change.

It didn't surprise him that war would bring about nightmares, especially a war where he could expect to die multiple times a day. The bad dreams were frequent and predictable, which he supposed could be considered a good thing. In his nightmares he was always in the middle of an intense battle, his teammates running about in the desert while he was holed up in his sniper's nest. He would be peering through the scope of his rifle when the familiar figure of a BLU spy would appear reflected in a jar of Jarate. Then, the pain of a backstab would blossom between his shoulder blades. Turning, he would see the BLU spy, laughing and smoking a cigarette before pointing his pistol at Sniper's head.

Those dreams, while not very pleasant, were easily forgotten after a cup of scalding coffee. It was the other sort of dreams began after joining RED that couldn't be shaken off, even after hours of fighting in battle or listening to the pointless ramblings of the RED scout.

They began after one particularly memorable battle, when RED had been pinned down by a sea of BLU soldiers. Sniper was working with Engineer in a last-ditch attempt to hold down the fort, but both of them were ready to face whatever death a mob of BLUs would unleash. Suddenly, a booming laugh shook the ground, and Sniper turned to see their heavy shrugging off every rocket and bullet. The massive man's body glowed a terrifying red as he plowed forward, completely unstoppable.

And behind him, followed by a flock of white doves, was the medic, grinning from ear to ear with a disturbing twinkle in his eyes.

That night, after the medic had been elbow-deep in his chest and replaced his human heart with one capable of an über charge, the usual dream changed. The BLU spy's menacing reflection appeared like always, but the butterfly knife never pierced his skin. He turned to see the BLU spy staring at him in horror, a bone saw protruding from the middle of his chest. Then the saw gave a sharp twist, and the spy fell apart in a gory mess, revealing the man wielding the tool of death behind him. The Medic's gleaming eyes met his, and the Sniper woke to the moonlight shining in his eyes. The moon, he couldn't help but notice, was not nearly as bright as the doctor's smile.

"Herr Sniper!" Medic exclaimed from his desk the next morning when Sniper entered the infirmary. "What a surprise to see you this early. You're not experiencing any pain in your chest from yesterday's surgery, are you?"

The powerful smell of antiseptic, not to mention the vision of his straight-backed teammate dressed in a crisp white waistcoat, caused Sniper to pause before he spoke after entering the room. "Nah, I'm feelin' fine," he managed to say amongst the coos of several curious doves.

"What a shame," Medic sighed, stroking the back of a nearby bird. "Sometimes there's nothing more stimulating than digging about in a massive infection before breakfast."

Sniper tried not to grimace at the vision that conjured in his mind. "I'll take your word for it." A few feathers fell past his face as a weight settled on his head, and he realized that a bird must have landed on his hat.

Medic clucked his tongue as he stood from his chair. Then, in a move that might have elicited panic in a less composed man than Sniper, the doctor strode right up to him and brushed the bird away with one hand. "Naughty Euclid," the German scolded gently before turning his attention fully onto his teammate. "Well then, if you aren't feeling poorly, what was it you wanted?

A lifelong habit of keeping his mouth shut and his ears open meant that Sniper was rarely at a loss for words. He was known for his short, concise responses that came quickly and naturally. It seemed, however, that Medic standing less than a foot away from him was enough to leave his mouth unable to communicate with his brain. "What you did yesterday, with your gun," Sniper said, finally, after far too long a pause. "It was… it was somethin' else. Really."

Medic cocked his head to the side, looking very much like one of his birds. "You're a man of few words, aren't you?" Sniper swore internally, scrambling to come up with a coherent response, but was saved by a good-natured chucle from the doctor. "It's alright, I've come to appreciate praise in succinctness. It comes with the territory of spending time with Heavy."

Sniper exhaled, grateful for the the older man's understanding. "Thanks,"he said, suddenly feeling much more comfortable. "It really was incredible. You should've seen the look on BLU's faces when Heavy came barrelin' through."

Medic nodded enthusiastically, clearly excited to discuss his latest triumph. "Yes, he was rather magnificent, wasn't he? Although I can hardly wait to try it out on the rest of you, now that you've all got your new hearts." He paused in his little lecture, suddenly looking thoughtful."Pardon me for a moment."

Before Sniper could protest, the medic's hands were on him. The careful, calculating hands traveled up and down his chest and arms, pausing at key points where muscles ended and met each other. The focused expression on Medic's face and the clinical way he moved his hands didn't stop the heat from flooding upwards to Sniper's face. He might as well have not been wearing a shirt given the way Medic's touch affected him. "I won't exactly be chargin' into a horde of enemies with a giant gun," the Australian managed to say over the pounding of his own heart.

"Ah, but that doesn't matter,"Medic replied, staring at his biceps rather than meeting his eyes. "Ah, yes, I can see it now: you, standing in full view of everyone, invincible to everything, making headshots on each member of BLU. Neat holes in their skulls, precice as a surgeon's, while their brains paint the desert red. And you'll be unstoppable." He met Sniper's eyes then, his smile impossibly broad and his eyes filled with the same brightness that Sniper had seen in his dream. "_We'll_ be unstoppable."

"Doc!" a frantic voice shouted from outside the infirmary. "Doc, you in here?"

Medic's expression transformed quickly from passionate dreamer to refined physician. "In here, Scout," he called back, and a second later Scout barged in the room. Sniper jumped back several steps, embarassed to be standing so close to the other man, still feeling the ghost of his touch all over his upper body. Medic, meanwhile, simply looked concerned. "Was ist los?"

"It's Soldier," Scout panted, looking a bit green in the face. "Demo bet him that he couldn't swallow a sticky bomb whole and Pyro detonated it by accident when no one was lookin'. He's got a hole in his chest the size of a bowlin' ball!"

Medic's worried expression faded away to one of pure delight. "Ooh, that sounds horrifying!" he exclaimed. Without another word, he snatched up his Medigun in one hand and a small portable camera in the other. Scout fled to lead the way to his injured teammate while Medic followed, both men disappearing from view as they left the room. Medic appeared again a second later, poking his head through the open infirmary door. "I'll be right back, Sniper. We can continue this talk later, ja?"

Soldier's wound was so grisly and gory that, when Medic returned to the infirmary an hour later, he was so exhausted from the thrill that he had completely forgotten his encounter with the sniper. Sniper, meanwhile, decided never to be alone in the same room with the Medic for the rest of his contract with RED.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

It turned out that being shot twice in the chest created a fine opportunity for dreaming.

This dream was one of the first that he'd had in sixth months that didn't feature his Australian parents. Instead he was back on the battlefield, looking through the scope of his rifle until an intruder caught his attention. But it was his New Zealand father pressing the butterfly knife into his back, and his New Zealand mother was the one holding the pistol. Neither of them made a sound, but Sniper could hear laughter echoing all around him. It wasn't the snorting laughter of the BLU spy, but a high-pitched giggle made of a series of gleeful hoots. Each joyful shout rang in Sniper's eardrums, each one more painful than the throbbing in his back.

When he woke up, the ghostly pain of his dream-wound was more potent than the actual bullet holes in his chest. When his eyes finally opened, all he could see were white tiles on the walls and ceiling. The room smelled like antiseptic, and the blanket around his waist was impossibly rough and itchy. The shrill laughter faded to a steady beeping tone, which Sniper soon recognized as a heart-beat monitor.

"Bloody hell," Sniper groaned, the inside of his mouth dry and foul tasting. The searing white overhead lights forced him to squeeze his eyes shut. "Figures that the afterlife would be a bloody doctor's office."

"You aren't dead," a familiar voice said from somewhere to Sniper's right. "At least not yet."

The sound of that voice made Sniper feel as though a payload cart had been dropped on his chest. Gingerly, Sniper turned his head to get a glimpse of the other man in the room. The former RED medic had his back to him, poring over something on a nearby gurney. "Thought you'd be a little happier to see me awake," Sniper muttered, his tongue thick and in the way as he spoke.

"Well, you've been fading in and out for the past few hours," the German said matter-of-factly, still not facing him. "Don't worry, I've been keeping a close eye on you."

"Awful considerate of you," Sniper said. At this, Medic turned around to face him, and Sniper could see him clearly for the first time. He hadn't seen the man in six months, but almost nothing about him had changed. The same amount of grey hair framed his long face, and that same damn sprig of jet-black hair curled on his creased forehead.

"Aren't you going to say anything else?" the doctor asked, his wicked smirk making Sniper want to stand up and slap it off his face. "Don't you have questions about what you're doing here or the man that shot you? Or where the rest of your friends are? Or would you like to tell me where the rest of the Australium is and save my boss the trouble of torturing you?"

"I have nothin' to say to you," Sniper growled. It was a lie, of course, he had plenty of choice words to spit at the smug, striking man before him.

"If you say so," Medic shrugged. "I suppose that means I'm going to have to fill the silence myself. But I always treasure opportunities to practice my bedside matter." Sniper snorted at that, and Medic had the gall to look offended. "It's true! I always like to have a good rapport with my patients," Medic claimed passionately. A terrifying grin suddenly spread across his face, one that raised the thin hairs on the back of Sniper's neck. "At least, until they've outlived their usefulness."

The demonic spark in the doctor's eyes, brought an angry heat to Sniper's face. "So that's why you've turned traitor, is it?" Sniper began to pick himself off of his bed, ignoring the pain that shot through his chest as he did so. "Me 'n the other blokes stopped being worth anything to you and your sick experiments?"

Medic pushed himself away from the gurney and casually strolled over to his patient. "Well, don't go putting words in my mouth," he replied. He shoved Sniper back into a lying position with one hand, forcing a gasp from the man. Ignoring him, Medic fussed with the machines that monitored Sniper's health. "But I mean, just imagine having to hunt the same sort of game in the same place day after day. Surely you'd jump at the chance to shake things up a bit? Expand your options?"

The sudden feeling of cold metal on his chest made Sniper flinch despite himself. Medic chuckled at the way his body jolted before moving his stethoscope further around his chest, taking no care when pressing down around the bullet wounds. "You know me so well," Sniper wheezed as Medic finished his examination and tucked the instrument around his neck.

"Ach, but do I really?" Medic appeared genuinely remorseful as he heaved a great sigh and shook his head. "Out of all of my former teammates, I spent the least amount of time interacting with you." He reached a gloved hand into his coat pocket and produced a newly-polished scalpel. His fingers twirled the knife with a playful ease as he leaned over the bed, and Sniper could see his own reflection in the doctor's round glasses. "With you hiding up in your sniper nests during battle and in your van during down-time, I have a feeling that we were never really all that close."

"How's this for bein' close?" With the lightning-quick reflexes finely tuned from years of making split-second shots with his rifle, Sniper snatched the scalpel from Medic's gloved hand. Gritting his teeth to keep the cry if pain from calling anyone's attention, he jumped from his bed and shoved Medic up against the wall. He pressed the scalpel against Medic's neck and, while he lacked the other man's medical expertise, he was sure that he could make the man bleed to death with one firm cut.

Sniper faltered a moment when Medic laughed out loud, taken aback by his mirth and fliching from the fflecks of spit that hit his face. "Well, aren't you feisty!" Medic cackled, looking perfectly pleased to have a sharp blade pushing into the skin of his neck. "If only you weren't injured; I would love to pit you against my new team's sniper."

"I ought to skin you alive and keep your head for a trophy," Sniper said, trying to stir up some fear in the self-satisfied bastard's eyes.

"All this talk is making me itch for a sparring match,"Medic said, frustratingly unaffected. "My new position, while ripe with opportunities for experimentation, has little use for direct combat."

"You and me facin' off one-on-one, givin' me a chance to smash your bloody double-crossing face into a pulp?" Sniper pondered the scenario before grinning darkly. "Sign me up."

"Yes, that does sound like fun, doesn't it?" Medic sighed wistfully, growing a bit somber as he spoke. "Unfortunately, we can't have that."

Sniper's quick and clever retort died on his tongue as he felt a sharp jab in his bare right bicep. "What…?" he began, before his mouth turned traitor against him and went slack. He could feel his heart, the heart that the man in front of him had put in his chest, beat slower and slower until his muddled brain wondered just how he was still alive.

"Now now, don't fight it," Medic tutted, pushing down the plunger of the syringe a bit harder, urging the drugs into the leaner man's bloodstream. Sniper slumped forward, suddenly feeling as though his legs were made of jelly, and in an instant Medic's arms were around him. The doctor pulled the injured man close and placed his chin in the crook of his neck, and Sniper could feel Medic's starchy lab coat press against the parts of his own chest that weren't covered in bandages. "You need your rest. Doctor's orders."

Sniper could barely stay awake, let alone protest. With surprising care, Medic led Sniper back to his cot and placed him on his back. Those itchy covers were pulled up around his shoulders, and Medic's fingers encased in thick rubber danced across his stroked the thick stubble that had grown over his chin and parted his black hair. The doctor's fingers massaging his scalp soothed him, although that may have been a side effect of the drugs. Sniper's eyelids grew heavier by the second, and the medic's eyes shining behind his spectacles were the last things he saw before he fell asleep.

Sniper dreamt of the battlefield again. He was sitting in his sniper's nest, his rifle lying on the floor beside him, and his hands filled with the lapels of Medic's lab coat. The doctor's lips were firm and strong against his own, and the taste of him was so entrancing that it took Sniper several moments to register the pain of the knife that slid into his back. Sniper broke their kiss, silent until Medic drew a scream from him when his gloved hand twisted the blade deeper. His cries grew louder as the doctor continued to twist, until they were drowned out by the sound of Medic's gleeful laughter.


End file.
